


A Well of Living Waters

by Laylah



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope
Genre: Community: areyougame, Cultural Differences, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She smiles. "Have you decided to join our tribe after all?" she asks. Her tone is light, teasing -- like she knows how unlikely it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Well of Living Waters

They return to the nomads' tents on a pretext of Reimi's -- she has more questions to ask about taming the bunnies -- and Faize is grateful. It seems a flimsy excuse to him, but he doesn't care; he's already looking for the girl he met before as soon as they arrive.

And when he finds her, when he catches her eye, the way her eyes light up makes something flutter in his stomach. "Hello," he says. "I'd hoped to see you again."

She smiles. "Have you decided to join our tribe after all?" she asks. Her tone is light, teasing -- like she knows how unlikely it is.

"I...I cannot. Yet," Faize says, wishing irrationally that he had another answer to give her. "There are things I still must do with my companions."

"Well," the girl says, "perhaps you'll come and enjoy what hospitality I can offer in the meantime?"

Faize imagines he can feel the weight of the others' regard, Lymle's silent disapproval. He feels very selfish. "I would be honored," he says.

She pulls back the tent flap and lets him precede her inside.

The interior of the tent is warm and dimly lit; it smells of dusty straw and some sort of spice. Nothing on Eldar was like this, and it couldn't be more unlike the _Calnus_. It seems strange to Faize that this place should be so welcoming despite that.

The girl takes his hand. "You're very pleasing," she tells him coyly. "Will you stay with me for a little while, so we can enjoy each other's company?"

"I'd love to," Faize says, and the girl leads him further into the tent, pulls him down with her onto a scatter of woven rugs and blankets. She settles herself much closer to him than he was expecting, then leans even closer still.

Faize startles when she would kiss him. "You -- I don't even know your name," he says.

She looks down, and the sweep of her lashes is beautiful. "Among my people there is nothing more intimate," she says. "In the old tongue, a name is a thing of great power. We do not share them outside the tribe."

"A-ah. Forgive me," Faize says. "I was very rude."

The girl smiles. "You didn't know," she says. "I hope I have not been so rude myself, by offering this?"

"N-not at all," Faize says. "It was -- unexpected, but I -- I would be grateful for whatever hospitality you are willing to offer."

She leans close as second time, and this time Faize moves to meet her. She kisses his mouth, and his heart pounds. It feels wonderful, soft and strange, a slow delicate touch unlike anything else. How could sharing names possibly be more intimate than this?

He cannot honestly complain. He parts his lips, and her tongue slips into his mouth, teasing against his tongue, sending shivers down his spine. She cradles his face in both hands and shifts closer, straddling his lap and kissing more deeply. Faize makes a soft, pleading sound entirely without meaning to.

The girl pulls back. "Would you like to lie with me?" she asks.

"I-I've never," Faize says, but that isn't an answer and what he really means is -- "I'd love to. You're -- you're so lovely."

"Here, then," she says, sitting back and starting to unwind the wrappings of her sleeves. Faize watches her for one awestruck moment before he realizes he needs to undress, too.

He strips out of his clothes, leaving everything piled neatly at the edge of the blankets, more comfortable bare than he would have expected to be; the air is warm, and the girl watches him as though she's fond of what she sees.

And she -- she's beautiful, her hips gently curved, her bare limbs graceful. Unbound, her breasts slope down to the soft brown peaks of her nipples, then curve in fullness below them. She has scars, faint pockmarks from some long-healed illness, and those are strange to Faize -- it takes him a moment to even recognize them, when Eldar's similar epidemics are footnotes in history -- but they do nothing to detract from how lovely she is.

"Come here," she says, kneeling on the blankets, reaching for him. Faize goes, lets her pull him into her arms, and his skin feels so sensitive everywhere, shivering alert at her every touch. Her skin is soft, her hands callused from holding reins, and the curls of damp hair between her legs are coarse when she presses full-length against him.

"Oh," Faize says, sliding his arms around her. "Oh." She smiles, knowing and kind, and kisses him again, her hands playing slow patterns down his back.

He likes to think himself accomplished in the skills he's learned on this trip so far, but in this he's a novice all over again. She doesn't seem to mind, leading him gently, guiding his mouth and his hands, touching him deftly. Her skin is fragrant with spices, and salt-bright under his tongue; when she guides him down between her legs to taste her there, he has no words adequate to describe the richness of her.

And when she's had her pleasure of him like that, she rises, presses Faize down onto his back so she can straddle him. He can feel the strength of her thighs, squeezing him tight, and then she lowers herself down, steadying him with one hand as she takes him in. She's watching him, but he cannot do the same; his eyes flutter closed and his breath hitches as she sinks down on him -- she's so _wet_ , surrounding him, and that seems like a miracle, like a treasure, in the dry desert.

She rocks on top of him slowly, letting him slide within her, and her fingertips trace more slow patterns in his skin, through the fresh dampness of sweat. Faize wonders for a moment if those patterns are symbols, if this is more of the secret lore of her people, but he can't hold to the thought for long; the pleasure is too immediate, too lush and sensual and overwhelming. He moves with her, hands on her beautiful hips, on her strong thighs, and she brings him to a climax that's like welcome, that's like coming home.

Faize can't speak, in the aftermath; he's trembling, but he feels at peace. He looks up to meet her eyes, and she smiles, so warm and understanding -- he doesn't need to tell her anything, he realizes. She knows what a gift she's given him.

She eases herself free of him and lies down, stretches out beside him on the blankets. Her hand comes to rest over his heart, and Faize rests his hand over hers. "I -- I will come back, when our duty is done," he says. "I would like to...share names with you."

Her fingers lace with his, and she turns her head to press a gentle kiss to his collarbone. "I'm glad," she says. "I'd like that, too."


End file.
